


Faint Soul

by kenmakzume



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, ghost au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmakzume/pseuds/kenmakzume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haunted, was the word Oikawa Tooru had described his home to be like when he was asked. There was no other way to explain it. </p><p>WARNINGS: Cursing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for looking into this work. This will be majorly a Oikawa and Iwaizumi fic leading into romantics.  
> This is also where Iwaizumi is a ghost so fair warning, there will be things moving on their own.  
> That is all, I hope you enjoy.

Haunted, was the word Oikawa Tooru had described his home to be like when he was asked. There was no other way to explain it, after a few weeks of living in the small apartment he found that mysterious things happened to him. Usually whomever asked laughed off his antics and continued on with the conversation at hand.

“What’s it _really_ like Tooru?” his mother had asked. Oikawa gripped his phone in annoyance that she hadn’t even reacted for him, but continued through clenched teeth that it was very nice though a bit bleak.

University had come up all of a sudden on Oikawa and he wasn’t even sure where he was going with his life. A full ride with volleyball was what he had for tuition but what about education, where would he study in.

“Perhaps parapsychology is for you,” his father joked over the phone, after his mother told him the day before what Tooru had told her. Oikawa found it unhelpful and immediately hung the phone up in annoyance. An hour later he called his parents back to apologize.

Oikawa believed his apartment to be haunted, no one understood why though, nor did they ask. The fact of the matter is that when Oikawa woke up he found all his clothes to be put away when he could have sworn he’d thrown them on the floor.

He had once poured honey into his hand, believing it to be shampoo immediately retracting it from his hair but still had to take an extra twenty minutes to scrape it off his skin.

“Must’ve been because you’re so _blind_ ,” his sister muttered down the phone line in her casual tone, probably staring at her polished nails in dissatisfaction. He hissed at her that she never cared about his problems and she replied that he had a bad habit of believing in unrealistic things. When he slammed the phone down, he did not apologize.

Everything that happened to him seemed to have an opposite, if he’d have a flickering TV his dishes would all be sparking. It bothered the young man to no end but when the reality of him being haunted, there was no backing out of it.

Bed called to the college student late one night after he’d finish his calculus homework and took an hour debating on a path to go down in later life (at the moment left at simple courses everyone took). As his eyes fluttered shut he thought he’d heard soft footsteps make their way out of his room, though he dismissed this thought quickly turning on the radio beside him to get his mind out of itself.

Creaks came from the kitchen, as if cabinets were being opened. Oikawa squeezed his eyes shut trying to think about happier thoughts then something watching his every move, looking through his things, _eating_ his food.

A glass shattered.

Oikawa was terrified as he bolted up right and rushed clumsily into the kitchen to see the glass piled high in broken chips on the floor. He sighed looking at the sight before him with wide eyes. He stood for a moment in shock.

A few moments into his stares Oikawa thought he felt a shoulder brush beside his, turning quickly to look beside him, though remembered his place. No one was there, he was the only one, he breathed in once and out once before turning onto his heel to retrieve the broom and dustpan.

Oikawa took the remains, dumping them into the bin and headed for his room although the sight before him was... stunning.

A book floated in the air, the pages flipping themselves with ease. In a moments notice the volleyball captain was up and out of the room in an instance, knocking loudly on his one and only friend’s door.

A young man with bed head stood before him, yawning and rubbing his eyes from the lack of sleep. When he looked down at Oikawa his eyes held fire behind them. Oikawa gulped nervously. Kuroo sighed at the sight of him, letting him inside.

“What’s wrong, King?” Kuroo asked, leading him inside.

“I just... um... that, ghost,” Oikawa stumbled, though he was unsure on how to go about his predicament. “I know, no one believes me but, I think there’s really one.”

“Why do you say that now?” Kuroo asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because!” he shouted, though Kuroo quickly quieted him stating that Kenma was asleep. Oikawa grew softer. “Tonight one of my glasses broke after I heard footsteps and creaks as if my cabinets were being opened. Then I saw a book, it was just floating! In mid air!” Oikawa shouted, his eyes wide. Kuroo handed the anxious man a cup of water which he thankfully took sipping it lightly.

“It seems so,” Kuroo sighed, making his way to the couch, picking up his laptop and flopping onto his diminished couch, beckoning Oikawa over to him. “Let’s do some research, my friend.”

Oikawa watched Kuroo with wide eyes and an excited smile on his face. No one had believed him thus far and so the image of his friend, his only true friend delving into his fascinations made Oikawa giddy and quickly make his way to the disgusting couch.

“It never occurred to me the place could be haunted. Honestly, I’ve always just thought the people who moved in were pussy’s who couldn’t handle being in such a confined place,” the young cat explained with a small shrug.

Oikawa turned his head slowly, almost like a robot, his smile plastered to his face in a sort of fake annoyance, “You knew people were leaving rapidly and recommended the place to me.”

“Oi! It was cheap as hell, you should be thanking me,” Kuroo nodded, folding his arms over his chest in defense.

“Kuroo! I’m gonna die because of you, and my parents said I’m not allowed to move out since it helps with the bills!” Oikawa shouted, gripping Kuroo’s collar in annoyance, his gaze frightening Kuroo a touch.

“Can we just— Oh my God, I think I’m dying,” Kuroo called, his face turning red. He reached out a large hand setting it on top of Oikawa’s face trying to push him away. “Tell Kenma that I... that I...” Oikawa let go, glaring at him.

“You what?” A voice asked behind them, the two screaming like little girls. Kenma watched Kuroo expectantly, not surprised by their screams. He never really seemed surprised about anything.

“N-Nothing, Kenma! It’s nothing. Right Oikawa?” Kuroo asked nervously, turning to his friend.

“How am I supposed to know?” Oikawa grumbled.

“I swear, it was nothing!”

“Whatever,” the pudding head shrugged, walking to one of two bean bags and sitting in it carefully. He turned on the TV, starting a game.

“So, do you want to research this or not?” Kuroo asked finally, looking over to Oikawa who nodded solemnly. “Alright!” He cheered, cracking his fingers before typing into the computer.

“Room 112 of the Japanese apartment complex in Tokyo where a young college student was brutally murdered.” Kuroo read to Oikawa who stared at him in fear.

“Y-You’re joking right, you’re just saying that,” Oikawa said, his teeth chattering against each other.

“No, Iwaizumi Hajime was killed by a man on another team who was too caught up in winning,” Kuroo turned the screen to Oikawa who stared at the page, there was no picture but some description. It had taken place in the forties after a tournament where Iwaizumi Hajime and his team had won, the member of another team came by for congratulations then shot him, one time in each hand sand straight through the heart.

After Oikawa read the newspaper, he stood from where he sat and quickly made his way into Kuroo and Kenma’s kitchen digging out the young boy’s medications. “Kenma, do you mind?” Oikawa called, to which Kenma replied with a small “no”. Oikawa poured a small pill into his hand, setting it onto his tongue before washing it down with his water. When he made his way back to the couch he was already asleep, stress free.


	2. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi's death.

A sharp whistle rounded the humid court, a moment of silence was distributed among the crowd before their screams of excitement sounded after the winning point had smacked ceaselessly against the floor.

Aoba Johsai had been a fairly new school in the area, everything was just starting out unlike all the other schools which have been long withstanding. So a young team _winning_ was indescribable, they would have no talent, no experience. It was a miracle they even won.

Osaka and Aoba Johsai had been neck and neck for the place in the National bracket, and then without any idea they won. The long running team had become weak from their years, like old dogs who could not imagine new tricks. That is what Aoba Johsai had.

The team had practiced far beyond what many schools had and for their first round of games they were something never before seem. Aoba Johsai was unable to compete for the past two and a half years due to inexperience but finally the board relented, letting them into the spring tournaments.

Iwaizumi Hajime, the team’s ace and captain, looked to his teammates grinning along side them, all happily rushing forward for a strong, teamly embrace.

Osaka sulked on the other side of the net.

Tears of joy may have streamed down the winning team’s faces, but Masaru was angry, agitated. He’d waited three long years to get to this mountain and _now_ the team of minority had pushed him down to a hill. The young man’s hands clenched tightly, his teeth doing much the same. He narrowed his eyes in disgust, staring at the ace and _the captain_. “How cocky,” Masaru thought to himself.

This was the _kid_ who defeated him. They may be in the same year, but Masaru surpassed him in experience, he work hard, wanted harder. If anyone should go to Nationals, it should have been him.

He looked around the court, everyone cheering for the newcomers instead of them and it made his blood boil beyond normal. One of his teammates carefully stepped slightly behind him, careful of his rising temperature.

“Captain, are you okay?” the timid boy asked, it was one of their middle blocker’s, tall and gaudy, though Masaru turned to the boy towering him in his dexterity.

“I’m perfectly... _fine_.” He growled, his teeth clenched so tightly his team mates believed that his jaw would break off. A collective breath was withheld by the losing team, awaiting their captain’s outburst. “Everyone knows when you lose, everything is perfectly fine!”

Masaru turned heatedly on his heel, storming out of the court, leaving the doors to slam harshly behind him, grasping everyone’s attention for a moment.

○

Masaru became obsessed with Iwaizumi. In school, everyone knew of Masaru being the captain of the volleyball and instantly flocked to his side. With these accomplishments he warmed up to some measly kid who had connections to the winning captain.

Iwaizumi Hajime was in honors classes with dazzling grades, he had lots of friends and a nice nuclear family. Iwaizumi’s family had money and was well put off. Not in need of a scholarship like Masaru. That damn captain-ace pissed Masaru off, he was twelve times better than himself at everything.

A few weeks of these burning emotions kept Masaru going, continuing to boil his insides until he was flaming. Everything he’d ever endured had been flushed down the drain, all because of him.

He’d made his decision.

○

“I’m home,” Hajime called into his home as he arrived from afternoon practice, nobody responded. The young teen ran a hand through his dark hair, setting his bag down. He walked into his kitchen, a small leaflet hanging onto the countertop. Hajime quickly picked it up, reading his mother’s scribblings stating that she and his father had gone out.

Hajime shrugged, walking up the stairs placidly, seizing his backpack to finish the night’s homework. The tanned teen sat quietly in his room, the record on the stand in the corner of his room spinning quietly with the soft sounds of music, entranced by the sounds of Sukiyaki and his calculus.

A rushed snap was heard mixed between his record, accenting to the person in the room. Hajime turned slowly to make a peek at the person behind him, hoping it was a stunt pulled by one of his team mates.

It wasn’t.

Hajime noticed messy blonde hair falling into the boy;s face that held blazing green eyes staring right into him, they were filled with so many emotions that Hajime became nervous. The teen with the gun looked up to his eyes peeking at him, their clashing personalities and appearances creating a stalemate.

The boiling teen  held the gun shakingly in his pale hands and Hajime finally noticed his familiar features. When positioned to he’d blocked the ball from his hands pushing them over his fingertips, when he spiked he’d watched the shocked face of his as the ball flew past him unexpectedly, and when he’d cheered for joy he’d noticed him boiling over.

He’d defeated him for Nationals and it seemed he may not make it to that point.

“Stand up.”

Hajime did as he was told on shaking legs, his mind turned in his cataclysmic event. The gun, he was unsure of the type, followed his movements, flopping around in the teen’s fist excitedly.

The teen watched him raise five inches above his own height, but as he did with the rest of his teammates, he allowed for his selfishness to add to his height.

“ _I’m_ Wakahisa Masaru, you and you little band of  maggots all defeated my team,” Wakahisa explained to Hajime nonchalantly, though the way he was flinging the gun around made Hajime tense. “I’ve tried to get over it, but I was supposed to win that title. I was supposed to go to Nationals, and now I never can.” He sighed tiredly. “I’ve lost everything to you.” With his thoughts refreshed, his grip steeled around the hilt of the gun and narrowed his eyes immaculately. “So, now you’ll lose everything to me.”

“Wakahisa was it?” Hajime asked, looking at the teen uncomfortably, unsure how to take the situation. “Listen, I’m sorry about the game but there’s no way we can change it. There’s no reason for this,” his voice was coaxing to Wakahisa and he hated how his words seemed to penetrate his thoughts.

“No! You listen!” he shouted after he recollected himself back to his anger. “I’ve lost _everything_. Volleyball isn’t just a game to me, it was my life. No one really loved me, my teammates were afraid of me, all those teens were faking at school, even my parents are unimpressed. Volleyball would’ve given me a scholarship, a life!” Wakahisa broke the dam behind his eyes crying hot tears, wiping at them away desperately with a terrible laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime whispered, taking a step forward.

A bullet ripped the air as quick as his movements came, tearing away the skin of his left palm. Hajime stared at the wound beginning to bleed profusely, the bullet shaped into the wall behind him. His skin began to grow pale as his right hand clenched tightly from the pain, tears running down his flushed cheeks.

“Oh my God,” he muttered, a thousand yard stare between the smoking wound was evident. “What the hell!” Hajime shouted rounding on Wakahisa who only stood grinning happily at his clear shot. The shot teen stepped shakingly to the shooter who didn’t move anymore as Hajime’s strong grip seized his neck tightly, the circulation of breathing was removed.

“You’re angry I get that, but murder isn’t what you need,” Hajime whispered to the kid who showed no fear on his expression though shook like a leaf in his hand. “You need a fucking mental hospital,” Hajime shouted, throwing Wakahisa into the floor out of anger.

Hajime rushed out of the room making his way to the phone though rushed quickly by Wakahisa from behind. He tried to jump out of his grip but was restrained by a knife digging slowly into his right palm and anchored into the floor. Hajime’s scream was terrifying, he could imagine every neighrbor waking up by now.

“Shit, they're probably awake by now,” Wakahisa whispered as Hajime laid on the floor curling into himself, his already pale skin turning to a sheet of paper, the only color coming from him were the dark red tendrils dripping out of his hands.

“I’ve taken away the things that make you something, and now here comes _your life_ ,” Wakahisa whispered tauntingly into his ear. He stood now, holding the gun shakingly in his hand.

Hajime laid face down on the floor, his eyes wide open as he prayed and hoped for someone to enter the home and find him almost dead. He pulled his fingernails through the wooden floor as he felt the pain continue to course through his body now. He felt the hot tears caress his face as he awaited anxiously for it to hit him.

A bullet flew through his spine and into his stomach, Hajime grit his teeth after another scream. The second found their way to his shoulder and then the third to his chest, to his heart.

Wakahisa laughed sardonically at the teen bleeding on the floor, rushing to the window in Hajime’s room, thinking back to his nightly actions, almost regretting them.

○

Oikawa stared at his computer screen, his knees to his chest as he shook slightly from the story retold to him through the article. It took him a few days until he was able to read the story, and now he felt he regretted it. Looking around the black room, long past ten at night and possibly left with a vengeful ghost, Oikawa rushed to his room.

He fell face first into his pillows, then turning onto his side to notice a vase of oriental lilies sitting innocently.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Log Number

_ “This is Oikawa Tooru reporting from room one hundred and twelve in the Yurei Complex, and this is log number five-five-fifteen: _

_ “It’s been a month since Iwa has made his presence known in my apartment but through these small notes I made at the beginning of our... relationship, it started a bit...” Oikawa breathed lowly. “cliche.” _

○

_ “Oikawa Tooru. Room One Hundred and Twelve. If you’re listening to this, then that must mean you found this old tape recorded in the floor boards... maybe the fridge who knows where this thing will end up. _

_ “So, with that being said, this is Log Number four-seven-fifteen: _

_ “A week ago, Kuroo told me that a teenager was murdered in the same apartment I know live in sixty years ago. Now, the ghost lurks around and I don’t know how long until I go crazy. Oikawa looked around his small apartment, his breaths increasing as he thought of the ghost watching him. _

_ “In a fit of curiosity I read his story and now I’m filled with terror and sadness. The guy was my age and killed over  _ volleyball _! The sport I play until my hands are bruised and my mind is numb. _

_ “Although his death was a tale that surprised me, I’ve tried everything I can to get rid of it. Even...” Oikawa breathed helplessly into the speaker. “the most desperate things.” _

_ “It all started with a simple trip to the store...” _

Oikawa stared at his computer screen the morning after he had read through the captain-ace’s death, it still flashed into his mind as he wondered how a teenager could act so...  _ childish  _ over a game. Plan to beat them the next time you meet, set up a match... but murder. That was never the answer.

He’d read a follow-up on Wakahisa Masaru and found he pleaded to have mental instability that forced him into committing the crime, though no one believed him.

Oikawa shivered at the thought, rolling over in his bed and made his way into the living room where he sat flipping through channels. Every time something came on, it somehow reminded him of the previous night. Blonde hair. Lilies. A glare. A gun.

The TV turned blank.

The wavy haired teen stared at the screen for a moment longer before laying on his stomach, reaching for his discarded laptop. The small words that lit up his screen led Oikawa to a nearby grocery store. He beelined for the herb section picking out a few mentioned on the website. In his purchase was rock salt as well.

Entering his home with a happy dexterity, Oikawa quickly went to work around his apartment, setting lines of salt around the entries,  _ “salt is used for keeping spirits out of houses because of its purity”. _

Later that night he found a few small bottles that could be worn around his neck like a necklace. He poured a teaspoon of the concoction, wrapping it around his lithe neck, humming to himself in happiness.

_ “Nothing happened. Sadly, he keeps around but hasn’t done anything particular lately.” _

○

_ “Log Number four-eight-fifteen: _

_ “I lied. Everything turned into a disaster. This morning I woke up and the salt lines were all broken and my herb bottles were all broken! I didn’t know if it was me or the ghost but then he wrote me a note. _

_ “ _ ‘It’s too bad this doesn’t work on ghosts anymore.’”

_ Oikawa sighed into the microphone, closing his eyes in desperation. “It’s been a long day... I’m... going to bed.” _

○

_ “Log Number four-twelve-fifteen: _

_ “The next thing I read was holy water...” _

“So,  _ Father _ ...” Oikawa mumbled, being one of the many who did not believe in a monotheistic belief, but a loose basis in Buddhism. “would you please grant my wish of purifying this water.”

The Priest looked at the young man, he (the Priest) was a stout man with a long face and almond eyes probably coming from the West to spread his beliefs to stubborn Japanese who would give nothing to listen.

“Yes, son I’ll pay the privilege to do such,” he agreed in broken speech.

“Yes! Okay, thank you. I’ll be right back to get the rest!” Oikawa cheered, rushing out of the church while the Priest stood dumbfounded.

“The rest?”

When Oikawa returned back to his apartment, he had Kuroo and Kenma help him carry his things up to his room - which were all water bottles - so that he could purify himself and his house with the water.

_ “It only worked for so long. Everything I used for water, I used the Holy water. Eating ramen? Holy water. Taking a shower? Well somehow I used it too. Even for washing my hands. _

_ “Nothing’s happened since so I believe it has left finally. For tonight I shall rest easy.” _

○

_ “The ghost has not left! I repeat, the ghost has not left! This is Log Number four-twelve-fifteen and this will be the recording I die on! _

_ “Please, help me!” _

Earlier that morning, when Oikawa had awoken he’d found himself asleep in the hallway with only his boxers on and strange symbols inked onto his skin. On further inspection he believed they were curses the ghost had put on him.

Hurriedly running to Kuroo’s room he knocked loudly on the door, hoping someone would open up.

Kuroo did.

“What d’you want?”

“Please, Kuroo. Let me live with you. I’ll pay rent, I’ll cook dinner, anything! Please just let me stay here,” Oikawa pleaded the young man who stared down at him curiously, looking at the markings on his body. He gave a wide smirk to the boy and waved goodbye tauntingly, closing the door before him.

Oikawa stared in shock at the closed door. He stumbled back and into his own apartment fearfully. “Okay, ghosty. Please don’t eat me!” Oikawa called, watching the room cautiously, stepping diligently to his computer. He found the page he’d been previously looking at and quickly did as told.

The brunette found a piece of plain paper, scribbling his wishes onto it and with diligent hands he lit the paper on fire walking around his house calling out wishes to the ghost. 

This, in terms of the internet, was called a banishing ritual.

While he was doing this inside, Kenma had been walking past the apartment and smelt the burning flames rushing over to the door he opened it to face a strange sight. Oikawa turned to him and blushed furiously at the teen’s gaze.

“I was trying to get rid of the ghost.” He muttered.

_ “Was I stupid? Yes, definitely. Kenma later explained to me that probably did nothing to the ghost and using such mediocre methods for someone who was murdered was probably getting me nowhere.” _

○

_ “Log Number four-thirteen-fifteen: _

_ “I hadn’t remembered that Kuroo and I got drunk a few nights ago and apparently  _ he  _ was the one to put the markings on me to play a prank... and then continued to go along with it the next morning.” Oikawa sighed tiredly. “He’s dead now, along with the ghost. They’re good friends, and leave me alone.” _

_ “If only.” He muttered so softly into the speaker it was hard to hear. _

○

_ “Log Number four-fifteen-fifteen: _

_ “Kuroo and I came to the conclusion of an exorcism, though Kenma seems to be quite the know it all.” Oikawa rolled his eyes. _

“We could go for an exorcism.” Kuroo offered with a shrug from the couch, looking over to his friend who had run into his apartment after Kenma, apologizing considerably. He’d explained to Kuroo that he had been trying to get rid of a ghost which Kenma was a witness to.

“Oh, that sounds good!” Oikawa cheered, clapping his hands together at the thought. Kenma easily butted into their conversation without even looking up from the video game he’d been playing.

“Exorcism are for demons. You try a seance.”

_ “To say the least, Kuroo and I looked up ideas for a seance and dressed up in idiotic clothes while Kenma sat with us with an amused look.” _

“Oh spirit! Come to us! We only want to get rid of you, allow you into the light. Oh, spirit, allow us to be your guide!” Kuroo shouted to the room as the trio held hands as they sat criss-cross on Oikawa’s apartment floor by candlelight. “Nothing’s happening,” he pointed out, looking around the room with a raised eyebrow as if awaiting the ghost to pop out.

“Maybe we need more people,” Oikawa offered, Kuroo nodded his head, breaking the circle.

“Every time you break the circle we have to restart,” Kenma pointed out to which Kuroo rose his hands in frustration, his red robes sliding down his arms.

“Aggh, so what! Can’t we just ask him nicely,” he asked in annoyance, pouting with folded arms. Oikawa watched him amused, though their tactics were leading him nowhere.

_ “After that happened, neither of us wanted to do anything, and Kenma was already playing around with video games. I happened to come into the bathroom and was able to make this video. Tomorrow’s a practice match with a new team and it seems we need to take deliberate steps because they’re good. Hopefully, no one will be murdered out of it,” Oikawa chuckled slightly into the microphone but he didn’t sound very impressed by his joke. _

  
_ “So for now, this is over and out.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi comes next chapter!  
> Thanks to everyone giving their support.  
> Read and Review for myself to give you something you enjoy more with your natural life, your comments give me my improvement to make sure this story is the best it can get.


	4. Cicada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hotaro: Firefly  
> Chouchou: Butterfly  
> Tonbo: Dragonfly  
> Semi: Cicadas

“Match point for Suzume!” the referee shouted across the court, Oikawa’s eyes growing wide at the announcement. What had he done wrong? Was it because this was a new team?

Oikawa turned to Kuroo who looked over to the new arrival as well, he raised an eyebrow, watching his reactions. Oikawa believed he would have won against their rival team but it seemed they hadn’t. Kenma was on the other side, their captain had split them up to see how they did on different teams. Oikawa had won every round, with or without the roommates.

“Hakuchou has to go a lap!” their captain called, his finger swirling in the air as his dark eyes watched as the tired players moved their legs at a slow pace. “Faster!” he snapped, and they quickly picked up their pace, groaning. “Want another lap?” he threatened, and they all stiffened, besides Oikawa who was lost in thought.

The last few games they played, Oikawa seemed to lose. It felt like he was dragging his team down by their teeth. When he arrived home he slammed his bag onto the ground and slipped to old tapes he had laying around the house of old matches.

Karasuno.

Nekoma.

Fukurodani.

All those good teams he had for his prying eyes to watch. Oikawa set the tape into the TV before going to take a shower and change before sitting in front of his TV to watch the matches. By three AM in the morning the TV began to flicker, and then turned off.

Oikawa groaned, he had barely started but it turned off.

It had been six hours since he sat in front of the TV to study the movements of the other teams. He had not barely started, it had been long since he sat down. He stood to turn it back on, his ankles and spine protesting at his movements, his wrist barely able to push him up onto his feet.

His slim finger hit the button and turned back to where he had been sitting in the hazy light into he was suffocated in the dark again. He turned back to the TV angrily, his teeth gritting into each other hitting the button for him to turn it on again.

He made his way to sit, able to make it to the couch and a few minutes into a Karasuno game before the TV hit it s light again. He made his way to stomp angrily and turn it on though the haze did not return. He tried to turn on a light to fix the problem but found he was unable to turn one on as well. With the power out he had no ability to watch a game.

Oikawa shoved his hands into his pockets, marching to his room and sleep.

○

After that night Oikawa began to notice small things that he hadn’t put out before, like an apple in the fridge or his clothes washed for the next day. It was nice, and for some time he had forgotten about the murdered ghost in his house that was most likely appeasing him.

○

There were four teams that each of the players could make:

Hotaru.

Chouchou.

Tonbo.

Semi.

Oikawa had made the third team with utter despair. Semi, _the cicadas._ Oikawa was disgusted when they told him he was on the C team, much less one with his least favorite insect. Kenma had been on the brink of being on the Chouchou team though he and Kuroo both made it to Hotaru, the fireflies.

It seemed to Oikawa that if a player on the Hotaru team wanted to step up to the Semi team he’d have to become something extraordinary. With six out of nine losses on his side, he didn’t see the bright side.

Kuroo made it to Chouchou with Kenma by his side. The captain had almost not given Kenma the step up but seeing the pair work together, even if not side by side he saw the potential. Kuroo could knock the kid out of his shell. 

Though Kuroo did. The three walked home together, Kuroo talking loudly to the two. He was used to Kenma’s usual quiet demeanor so with Oikawa added it seemed like nothing had changed, the tall teen was able to talk for all three of them.

Oikawa held his hands tightly in fists as he walked stiffly home, not listening to Kuroo’s insistent tendency to hold no quiet around them. He glared at the ground, occasionally his feet when they came into view and hidden ones that were directed at Kuroo when he barked into laughter.

He sucked in his lip and began to walk faster when he noticed their building coming up. In his fast walk, it turned into a run, and a sprint up the stairs to his apartment.

Kuroo sighed.

“Will he be okay?” Kenma asked quietly, looking up from his phone. The captain had taken it up, not used to Kenma’s habits and didn’t seem to like how out of tune he was with the team while playing. Though when matches came where he was with or against Kuroo it seemed the boy played to a different degree layering him up in his status of where the boys should be placed.

“He’s obsessive, everyone knows that. Volleyball being the only thing he’s ever really had in his life. For now he needs to cool down. Let’s go get some dinner and then we can check on him,” Kuroo explained to his pudding haired friend who nodded softly walking along with him.

“I was thinking about dying my hair,” Kenma stated, Kuroo looking to him with a raised eyebrow.

○

Oikawa barged into his apartment, cheeks flushed in anger as he shoved his bag onto the floor. Walking into his kitchen to get a glass, fumbling with it until it fell on the ground, shattering he moved away knocking into the wall. His back hurt and shards of glass were all over the place. Oikawa hissed turning away, he’d clean it up later.

He moved into the living room where he clicked the TV on, it didn’t budge. Something had happened it seemed. He tried again and again until he knocked it over turning to flip his coffee table as well. He moved to relax on his couch, toppling over clumsily from too much pressure pushed onto it.

His anger bubbled higher and higher until he was boiling taking a picture frame and throwing it at the wall. It was a picture of some kid he knew in his childhood, his mother begged him to take it before he moved out. Memories, were apparently, something you had to hold onto.

Oikawa believed it was bullshit as he threw another frame of himself winning an award for school attendance.

Nothing for volleyball was touched. He moved backwards a step, something shoved under his foot caught him by surprise making him fly backwards onto his back, staring where the ceiling should be in shock.

  
Though that ceiling resembled a very angry man who seemed a bit pale. Pale in a sense that he could also see the ceiling through his head and Oikawa very much shivered in fear.  


	5. Iwaizumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my shit best friend who had to do scholarships instead of hanging out with me. :^|

Oikawa had fallen to the ground in obvious pain, his back aching and thoughts swimming in a mess of dead fish. He drew his eyelids shut so that he could focus on the pain, rolling onto his right side, curling into the fetal position. From being sore to falling roughly on the floor, Oikawa didn’t feel like the pain would subside for him.

He rolled onto his left side, pain shooting into his arms and legs, shuddering. Oikawa then felt numb, his body felt like it was going into shock as he thought to a moment ago when he had opened his eyes briefly. A see through teen stood above him. That’s what he thought was there, but perhaps it was nothing.

Maybe Kuroo had left a cigarette in his apartment to burn it down, or the stove was on perhaps. Oikawa rolled back to his back and slowly peeled his eyes open to look above him where the guy stood. He shuffled to lay on his stomach, thinking about the obvious ghost that watched him amiably.

The ghost’s foot tapped into Oikawa’s side and he was surprised he felt it. He flipped back onto his back before pulling himself back into the wall, his knees to his chest.

His dark eyes followed the ghost in front of him, stand tall before him, beginning to move his mouth though Oikawa was so far gone he didn’t hear a thing.

Oikawa noticed his dark tresses, as black as night that looked like they were sharp like knives. He shivered slightly, thinking the ghost could kill him, although he didn’t seem like he could. Although his forehead were wrinkled into anger, following his eyebrows where they pulled together tightly. Sharp and pointed, his eyes fell directly onto Oikawa (who looked like he was really paying attention) as dark as obsidian.

Oikawa had looked at his own eyes, believing them to be dark, endless pits of nothing. Not beautiful like the deep oceans or the forest greens like others had. Even Kenma’s eyes were golden stones. Though this ghost (of Iwaizumi Hajime) had black eyes, as dark as a moonless night, as if they knew the things that people got into. They were dark and terrifying though if softened lightly, the gleam of the lamp (or the sun) would become like the moon, brightening his dark look.

He watched as Iwaizumi’s eyes glared into him, his mouth forming around words. Oikawa watched his pale lips form around pale skin. His complexion was pale, but you could tell that when he was alive his skin was a nice bronze. His see through skin made Oikawa uncomfortable, he was able to see his couch, TV, everything behind him.

His clothes were Western, a simple white t-shirt and black shorts. They were plain clothes, before he was about to go to sleep. His feet were only wearing socks and if Iwaizumi turned around, a dark red stain would form around where he was stabbed although the clothes wouldn’t be ripped.

Oikawa couldn’t help to feel helpless, upset, what if the ghost was here to kill him, himself? His selfish acts had finally made the ghost come to kill him. After all that time of trying to exorcise him, he was finished, he was ready to cut off his life and forever torture him in damnation.

○

Iwaizumi stood in front of the idiot teenager. All of his actions led up to his appearance, it started with him moving in. Iwaizumi just wanted to be left alone in the place he died until he could allow himself the ability to forgive the mother who killed him.

When Oikawa moved in he tried everything to make him leave, but the kid was too stubborn and broke. After time he became used to him and left him be, until he started trying to get rid of him. Then Iwaizumi tried to make him stop. Then was today where he became so enraged he saw Wakahisa Masaru in the teenager that he had to do something.

Iwaizumi waited for Oikawa to come to his sense, when he moved up against the wall, the young ghost began to rant at the brunette setter.

“What the hell do you think your doing? I know you read about my murder, you know what happens when your obsessed, so why can’t you get it through your thick head that volleyball is a sport, not your life. You have so much more to live for than this. There is so much more to your life, you can’t waste it you...” Iwaizumi breathed deeply through his nose. “piece of shit.” He stared down his nose in distaste as he watched him in annoyance.

“Your only what, nineteen? You have a lot more to go for. A job, a wife, maybe some shitty kids to follow your shit legacy, but don’t you ever turn into an obsessive freak. Everything material is temporary, every sport, time, person is temporary but the mark you leave on this world is permanent. And to be a murderer, is no way to go. Being murdered is not some goal to be achieved.”

“Oikawa Tooru, you’ve left your scars across your body, your memories across the schools you’ve fell to. Do better. Do something about the shit you’ve landed yourself in, instead of wallowing in your pain and selfishness.”

“Alright?” Iwaizumi took Oikawa’s collar into his hands, gripping tightly although it felt like a feather pulling him up. “There is nothing more annoying than someone who takes something too seriously to the point of death. Whether their own or someone else.” Oikawa looked straight into Iwaizumi’s eyes, large and doleful as he murmured one word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Huh?”


	6. Near Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, I wish they'd kicked off some kind of romantic thing but they haven't so that sucks. Anyway! Enjoy! Comments are always wonderful so I know how you're feeling about this.

_ “Huh?” _

Iwaizumi stared blankly at the human below him whose brown eyes seemed to go back into focus for the first time through their conversation. He couldn’t pull his own thoughts back to know that this kid wasn’t even listening to him. His hand let go of the young adult’s teen letting his limp body fall to the ground, he let out a small yelp of surprise but Iwaizumi didn’t pay attention.

The door opened quickly and a young, meek boy walked in his pudding hair falling in his face as he looked around the house. “Oh, shit,” Kenma whispered at the sight of Iwaizumi standing above Oikawa. “Kuroo!” he called down the hallway, for help from his best friend.

“You know about this?” Oikawa screeched, scrambling to his feet to look down at the boy.

“Yes,” he stated with no emotion. Iwaizumi was impressed that such a small, timid looking boy seemed so apathetic to seeing someone yell at them, especially since there was a ghost right behind him.

“What? Kenma, I thought we were friends. Are we not? Your just... just giving up on me!” Oikawa continued his breaths getting faster, leaning against the doorway. “Is it just me or is the room spinning? I think I’m gonna puke,” he stated, rushing clumsily to the bathroom, throwing up and then passing out beside the bowl.

Kuroo walked in tsking at his friend as he stood in the bathroom staring down at his friend, “This kind of behavior is for parties only,” Kuroo sighed, pulling his friend over his shoulder to walk him to the closet.

Kenma stood talking to Iwaizumi who listened to the small boy intently, he had an enthralling voice that seemed to capture him in a way as the apathetic adult continued on. He explained how at twelve he had a near-death experience, going out of body allowing him to see ghosts. At first he was unable to understand what had happened but it seemed that the closest friends he had for a long time were ghosts.

When he met Kuroo, everything from then on was explained to the young boy who supported him (even though at first he wasn’t so sure he believed). When he first believed was when a ghost dog began following Kuroo around because he liked him so much. After a while (once the ghost gives consent) it appeared and Kuroo was thoroughly stunned to see the dog.

The two after that got into volleyball and Kenma found ways to help the ghosts go on to where they needed to be.

“Hey, kid. You doing okay?” Kuroo asked, patting Oikawa’s head with a damp wash cloth.

“I had the... strangest dream that the ghost was real,” Oikawa replied, turning onto his side to see Iwaizumi. “Oh no, he’s real! He’s come to suck my soul out of my body and then take over it so he can live the life he wasn’t allowed to!” he continued, tears streaming down his face at his paranoid thoughts.

Iwaizumi stared at the  _ child  _ not amused by his antics. “I’m not going to do that.”

“He’s telling me lies! Kuroo! Save me!”

“He’s not. You’ll be fine.” Kuroo chastised.

“I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”

“He’s like a normal person. Just dead.”

“And then I’ll be dead!”

“Shut up!” Iwaizumi shouted, punching the wall though his hand went right through the wall.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kenma quietly said, calming the ghost down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, a bit surprised that the cat like young adult coaxed him so quickly.

“Oikawa, this is Iwaizumi, the ghost that has been ‘haunting’ you,” Kenma introduced. “He’s perfectly stable and shouldn’t hurt despite that he has quite the erratic anger in him, though it makes him unsolidify for points of time, just try not to touch him at these moments or you could have your arm stuck in his armpit for a month,” he looked down at Oikawa for a second, reconsidering. “More like ten minutes, but it’s about the same.”

“He’s a ghost?” Oikawa asked, Kenma rolled his eyes.

“Yes, and he’s tethered to this apartment, so he can’t leave,” Kenma explained to him, Oikawa seemed to pale. “Don’t worry, you should be fine.”

“Okay, I’m quite frightened and not sure what I’m supposed to do. What do I do?” Oikawa asked, his body shivering in fear.

“Talk with him, he’s like a roommate who can disappear. Just say the word and he’s out of your hair,” Kuroo gave the teen a wink and a malicious smile. “And if you need a reality check, I’m always home, except when I have classes and when I’m running errands. Honestly, just call me before you do.”

Oikawa sighed, tucking his bottom lip into his mouth nervous and unsure of the sudden changes happening in his house. “I’m going out,” he decided, standing up. Iwaizumi gained a hurt look that he had nothing else to say. “I need to get some coffee, I’ll have a late night if I need to talk through this,” he explained, looking the ghost straight in the eyes.

“Anyone need anything?” they all shook their heads, as he left.

“He needs to cool off. It’s better if he holds onto some sense of reality,” Kenma began to explain. “The world is hard and lecherous now that there’s another factor in it, he’s going to need something to hold onto.” 


End file.
